From Canada with Love

A refreshing note from abroad, for a change:

Sunday Drive: Letter to a G. I.

As we commemorate the service and sacrifice of our nation's veterans, straight and gay, this post from Servicemembers Legal Defense Network seems especially fitting today:

May 28, 2010

President Barack H. Obama
The White House
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue Northwest
Washington, DC 20500

Dear Mr. President,

For the past month, we have sent you personal letters from those harmed by “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell.” With the votes in the House and the Senate Armed Services Committee, we are bringing our series to a close. The final letter we are sharing with you was written by a World War II soldier to another service member. It is a love letter penned on the occasion of their anniversary.

The letter, which follows below, was published in September 1961 by ONE Magazine – an early gay magazine based out of Los Angeles. In 2000, Bob Connelly, an adjunct professor of LGBT studies at American University, found a copy of the letter in the Library of Congress. He brought the letter to the attention of Servicemembers Legal Defense Network last month.

We sincerely thank Mr. Connelly for his research and the ONE National Gay & Lesbian Archives for granting permission for the letter to be republished.

Please accept this letter on the behalf of all lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender service members on active-duty, in the reserve and in the National Guard; those who have been discharged; and those who didn’t enlist because of the discriminatory law now being dismantled.

With great respect,
Former Specialist 4th Class Aubrey Sarvis
United States Army

The letter as published by ONE Magazine:

Dear Dave,

This is in memory of an anniversary – the anniversary of October 27th, 1943, when I first heard you singing in North Africa. That song brings memories of the happiest times I’ve ever known. Memories of a GI show troop – curtains made from barrage balloons – spotlights made from cocoa cans – rehearsals that ran late into the evenings – and a handsome boy with a wonderful tenor voice. Opening night at a theatre in Canastel – perhaps a bit too much muscatel, and someone who understood. Exciting days playing in the beautiful and stately Municipal Opera House in Oran – a misunderstanding – an understanding in the wings just before opening chorus.

Drinks at “Coq d’or” – dinner at the “Auberge” – a ring and promise given. The show 1st Armoured – muscatel, scotch, wine – someone who had to be carried from the truck and put to bed in his tent. A night of pouring rain and two very soaked GIs beneath a solitary tree on an African plain. A borrowed French convertible – a warm sulphur spring, the cool Mediterranean, and a picnic of “rations” and hot cokes. Two lieutenants who were smart enough to know the score, but not smart enough to realize that we wanted to be alone. A screwball piano player – competition – miserable days and lonely nights. The cold, windy night we crawled through the window of a GI theatre and fell asleep on a cot backstage, locked in each other’s arms – the shock when we awoke and realized that miraculously we hadn’t been discovered. A fast drive to a cliff above the sea – pictures taken, and a stop amid the purple grapes and cool leaves of a vineyard.

The happiness when told we were going home – and the misery when we learned that we would not be going together. Fond goodbyes on a secluded beach beneath the star-studded velvet of an African night, and the tears that would not be stopped as I stood atop the sea-wall and watched your convoy disappear over the horizon.

We vowed we’d be together again “back home,” but fate knew better – you never got there. And so, Dave, I hope that where ever you are these memories are as precious to you as they are to me.

Goodnight, sleep well my love.

Brian Keith

The Love Drug

Sullivan posts a link to the Worst Love Letter Ever - and I have to agree.

Whoever the kid that wrote it is, I feel so sorry for him.  Because he is stuck in that ridiculous stage of childhood fantasy, even though his body has grown up.  And because he reminds me - and how I blush to recall - of the fact that I have also been just this fucking stupid and totally deluded about my own motives.

The ancient Greeks had two sayings carved on the temple of Apollo, the god of wisdom; one of them was "Know thyself."  How much suffering the human race would be spared if we all took that to heart.

I went steady with two girls in junior high school - yeah, girls:  that was the only game in town forty years ago.  And it was a great boost to my awkward, self-conscious, fumbling adolescent ego.  But even though I was the one to break it off with both of them, I carried a torch for the second one till after I'd graduated from high school.  And pestered her to come back to me; how embarrassing to remember.  Having once felt that ego boost and inner security, I just couldn't let go of it somehow, kept imagining the two of us with a rose-covered cottage, the picket fence, the kids and dogs, etc.  (And of course imagining that the gay thing would somehow just evaporate away if I got married, like a good boy.)

But then by the time I was out of school, I'd developed a crush on a guy friend.  And that went on for several years: we even roomed together for a time, although - stupid me! - we never did anything.  Not really.  Long story there; another time I'll blog about it, perhaps.

And then there have been a couple of others along the road that I held on to in my heart for way, way too long, even after all hope was gone, even after the relationship had torn me all up inside.   It took me many years to learn that wisdom, and in a sense, manliness, is knowing when to let go - and then to let go with grace.

But until you truly grow up on the inside - respect yourself, and learn to stand on your own two feet, come what may, and not to fear being alone - it's hard to let go of the love drug:  just as powerful an addiction as booze or drugs.  I believe it was C. S. Lewis who once wrote that when we say, "I love you," most of the time what we really mean is, "Please love me."

Looking back over my life, I can see the truth of that.  I would have been a much better man if I'd known it sooner.